


Nightmare

by AngelGirl4212



Category: seaQuest
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:14:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 37
Words: 14,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23761402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelGirl4212/pseuds/AngelGirl4212
Summary: This takes place in an alternative universe. As a result, several of the characters that left after the first season are appearing alongside characters that didn't appear until the third season.
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is in season three...sort of. The SeaQuest and her crew were never missing for 10 years, but Oliver Hudson is her Captain and Nathan Bridger does have his grandson.

The smoke is intolerable, it fills the room,clouding his eyes and burning his lungs. Breathing it in left a rancid feeling that he could almost imagine oozing from his pores. His breaths are shallow, unsatisfying; however, even willingly depriving himself of oxygen does little to prevent his eyes from slightly tearing whenever this smoke hits his screaming lungs. The submarine, ordinarily his home, was under assault. At his side, hands balled in impotent rage.

Somewhere to his right, someone is crying with pain, almost lost among the harsh orders and barking commands. The voices unfamiliar, he moves away from the sounds, startled when his sneakers slide under him. Looking down, he finds the clutter of fresh debris and the smears his sneakers made through the tracks of fresh blood. Something inside clicked and, working on an autopilot he wasn't aware that he had, he reaches down to pluck an abandoned gun from the alarming pools of dark liquid. He wipes if off on his jeans, a slight grimace of distaste on his face.

He changed direction, free hand absent-mindedly fingering the drying stains left from the gun, “Darwin?”

He reaches a hand out for guidance. The smoke dense enough that he finds it impossible to judge how close he is to the splashing noises. Moving cautiously, a scream dies in his throat as his foot slips and water closes over his head with a ferocity that almost scares him.

He begins struggling toward the surface, lungs crying for the very air that they had previously (and venomously) rejected. As his body moves with practiced ease, the pathway to the surface is blocked. Panic begins to seize him and, despite the approaching voices, he pounds his fists desperately into the blocking mass. The rubbery material gives slightly under his assault...but not enough.

Garbled by the water rushing in his ears (or maybe by the depleting oxygen supply), voices muddle their way through the haze. Only one is familiar: Tim O'Neil's shrill and frightened. O'Neil falls into the tank with an empty “pop”. Sight hindered by Darwin's body. Lucas can only guess what happened. It is too dark to tell what the dolphin already knows; the water around them is tainted with spreading blood. Far beneath them, still plunging heavily toward the tank's floor, Tim O'Neil's good eye, the other shattered by his corrective lenses, half closed in reflex. Lucas, still pinned by his friend's body, found his eyes closing and, weakened, his fists drop.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please see Chapter 1.

Ben Krieg had been in his quarters, immersed in the latest erotic collection to weasel its way on board (partly with the help of Krieg himself, although wild horses wouldn't be able to drag that information out of him now that Captain Hudson was at the helm). A little thing with the biggest breasts that Kreig had ever seen is in the midst of unhooking her bra when the view screen flicked then, after a brief struggle, died.

“Fuck.” His curse is interrupted by the monotonous cry, _“All hands to battle stations. I repeat, all hands to battle stations.”_

Krieg runs, big breasted women forgotten. On his way, one foot hooked on the closing door and he begins to fall. Struggling to right himself without slowing down, his right knee scrapes the surface of the carpeted corridor. He cries out his frustration while hobbling to the Bridge.

Captain Hudson greets him with an icy stare and Krieg flashes him his trademark shit-eating grin. The sudden appearance of his pearly whites masks the ramble of thoughts that insist that **all** of Captain Hudson's expressions look like glares. He sits, scratching his neck in a vain attempt to ignore the eyes that, he is certain, are boring large holes into his body.

_The man hates me_ , he thinks, fingers still reaching for the invisible itch while his mind is determined to earn the perceived hatred by showing up late to his next Bridge shift.

“Captain,” Katie Hitchcock's blue eyes focus intently on the screen, a small frown leaving tiny wrinkles on her forehead. Krieg notices this and part of him still wants to kiss those wrinkles.”I'm not receiving reports from any of our security teams.”

Arms crossed, Oliver Hudson leans close enough to Hitchcock to smell the light flowery scent of her perfume; despite this, it is not the lovely Lieutenant Commander that captures his attention, “Ford, get me my team.”

“Yes Sir.”

Three people leave their stations. Although doom echoes with every step or their highly polished shoes, they are blissfully unaware that only one of them would ever see the Bridge again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter 1.

A much younger man once told a U.E.O. lecture class that life wasn't all about protocol and operations manuals, to make a career, a successful career, a lot more rode on gut feeling than any U.E.O. propaganda was going to admit. Now, he sits in his chair, his grandson playing near his feet, trying to ignore a belly full of gut feeling.

For the last few days everything had been loaded with it. At first age had him thinking it was heartburn, but heartburn doesn't force old men to think that a sub is in trouble just by the way that a blond boy hunches over a video game; every cry of triumph when a mutated bug went down bringing the ghostly whispers of another.

“The _SeaQuest_ needs its Captain.”

The voice drives him from his thoughts. He stops the gentle sway of the chair and peers at the boy hunched at his feet. The boy's favourite green t-shirt ( _“Look at the dead bugs on it! Thanks Grandpa, this is the coolest!”_ ) is gone, a well worn baseball jersey in its place. The boy is gone as well. The blond hair remains, but the eyes are much older....and familiar. He looks up at him and as a lopsided grin clicks in place, the vague familiarity turns to clear recognition.

“Did ya hear me or are you going deaf in your old age?”

“Lucas! What's going on? Where's Michael?”

“Your grandson's fine. That's not important.”

“What are you doing here?” The old man voice is gone and in its place, there is the voice of command. “What's going on?”

“I already told you!” His voice is thick with impatience and when he speaks again, the words are slower as if he is speaking to a small child. “The _SeaQuest_ needs you.” He gestures towards the cabin door. “But don't take my word for it.”

Bridger drags himself to the door, dread crawling up his balls. The door is thrown open by an unseen force before he even frees his hand to touch the wood. He is greeted, not by horror, but by the normal sight of his own beach. A breath drags deep in his lungs and, when he releases it, he hears the distant sounds of familiar clicks and whistles.

“Darwin!” He races towards the sight, hearing the sounds of Lucas running behind him, “Darwin!”

When he reaches his destination, his fingers reach out to pat his friend. Lucas' hands join his, rubbing the dolphin. After a moment, Lucas draws his hands away. A noise on the beach diverting his attention with a speed normally reserved for video game reaction time. This is no game and a shadow of worry replaces the joy that had been there throughout much of their brief conversation.

“Captain, I-I have to go now.”

Lucas backs away from his friends, moving toward open water. Darwin makes no move to swim out after him, even as his head disappears under the deceptively calm waters. Bridger rushes out to help, convinced that his young friend is drowning, keeping him from discovering the origin of the scraping noise that recently started on the beach.

“Lucas!”

He dives down, eyes scanning but finding nothing. He resurfaces, gasping for breath and pushing away the hair the ocean had pasted in front of his eyes. One deep breath, then another, preparing himself to dive again.

He dives. This time, hands clench on a head full of thick blond hair and he drags the mess after himself to the surface. They reach air together, threading water and doing everything to keep Lucas' head afloat. Lucas' head eventually finds a niche, resting on Bridger's left shoulder and from the angle, Bridger can see enough to realize that this thing on him isn't Lucas anymore.

The blond hair belongs to his grandson. Eyes glazed and staring, framed by dark blue circles. As he watches, his own eyes bulging with horror, Michael's tongue, small and bluish, pokes out of his mouth. Indistinguishable words form ( _hi gramps did you miss me huh i'm your dead grandson by the way I know where my daddy is and he's dead too...everybody is dead...everyone you love_ ).

(this is not happening this is not happening thisisnothappening)

The old bladder finally lets go. Michael's spread fingers reach up, touching one aged and stubbled cheek. The touch is lovingly brutal and he feels his eyes snap shut against the unwanted caress, as if denial has the power to eradicate.

“Nathan Bridger,” the voice is rusted, as though the vocal cords were thickly coated with drying blood.

( _“Grandpa, wake up_ )

His mind is reeling, however, the caress is gone and he is lulled into a sense of security by the absence of rotting breath on his face ( _not to mention that wet heaviness between his thighs, that's gone too_ ). He opens his eyes.

“I had to wake you up.” The boy is standing over him, looking every inch like his lost father. Except for the expression, where he rarely had to deal with Robert's fears, this boy was clearly upset; the brow furrowed in a way modern childhood never intended. Eyes wide with concern ( _but sane thank god they're sane_ ), “You are making noises....grandpa is everything alright?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter 1.

Even before he opens his eyes, he is painfully aware of the **silence**. It crushes down on him, filling his ears and lumping in his chest. It was so thick that it is almost tangible. When he coughs up steady streams of tank water, he is almost tempted to look for it.

Beside the Moon Pool, head still resting against wet tile, Lucas waits until his stomach stops heaving before attempting to rise. Later he'll discover that Darwin saved his life, pushing his limp body out of the pool after the threat had passed. For now, Darwin is no where to be found and looking only results in horror. His hands are stuck, numbly, to his sides and he is suddenly light-headed. From his vantage point, with no mammal to block the sight and where the pumps couldn't reach to eradicate evidence, Tim O'Neil, foot caught on some unseen latch, floats upwards. His face is half gone and brain matter peeking through the remaining tuffs of dark brown hair. His hands, suspended terribly above his head, the dead man looks to be in the midst of some escape attempt gone horribly wrong.

Lucas Wolenczak stands, feet rooted to the spot and jaw slack with shock. He tries, but he can't seem to pry his eyes from the sight. When he blinks, his mind changes the scene. O'Neil's lifelessly floating hands twitch. Shaking away any traces of developing rigor mortis, they grasp the tank's ladder. Fingers close around the steel cylinders and he grins at Lucas with sick satisfaction. His foot frees itself and he pulls himself up the ladder, rung by rung. Legs dragging as the hands methodologically work. The foot that was stuck is horribly twisted, but it does not seem to be slowing him down enough that Lucas is sure that any second he'll break his paralysis and start running. He is equally sure that his friend is gone and that this monster coming for him, looking at him through one glazed eye, is going to kill him. Yep, this new Tim O'Neil is going to drag himself out of the tank and rip open his throat. And while he's standing there garbling blood, this new Tim O'Neil is going to rip greedy handfuls from his body. His dying image is going to be O'Neil's remaining teeth chopping down on chunks of his flesh. A scream builds up within him and, for one long second, he believes that the scream is too big to contain.

His eyes close tight, as if twisting his eyes shut will shut the well of emotions. A surge of guilt crawls up from his groin. It's hot and uncomfortable. This discomfort prompts him to open his eyes and he forces himself to confront his friend's body. And Tim had been his friend. Had been a good friend and he did not deserve to be turned into some fucking nightmare. He moves closer to the Moon Pool, trying hard to conjure a sense of grief. One hand reaches out to touch the dead man, his mind screaming at him not to do it and another mental voice insisting that Darwin didn't need this anymore then he himself did. The reaching hand, fingers outstretched and hovering never make it to their destination. Just before any of his digits could make contact, his resolve broke. His heart pounding, he runs.

Sneakers hit the ground, leaving puddles from the tank with every beat of the water-clogged material. Each puddle drips off the memory of Tim O'Neil and his ruined face. Shudders wrack his frame, throwing off his balance and he falls. His knees hit the floor with the meaty slap of wet denim. The sharp tang of blood explodes with the sudden flare of pain in his tongue and he cries out. He stands, hand to his mouth as his body breaks contact with the floor, leaving behind a much larger puddle. Staring through wide, unseeing eyes, he runs again. Inside,where the noise is all consuming, a mantra can be heard above the fear; if he just keeps running, everything will be okay. After a few more of the mental repetitions, he believes it.

His foot slides, a puddle of his own making throwing him into Tony Piccolo. Tony's arms grasp him just under the arms, pulling him straight and keeping him upright. Tony's face is ashen, except for an ugly gash just over his left eyebrow and Lucas stares in stupid fascination. Dimly aware of his actions, he reaches out to touch the other man's face. Pulling his hand away, he stares mutely at his blood-stained fingers.

“Ow.” Tony Piccolo almost drops the younger man, “Don't. What are you trying to do?”

Lucas looks up at the voice, uncomprehending. After a moment, a flash of recognition sparks and his eyes reveal a floodgate of emotions. Under the assault, the blue eyes darken and when he speaks, the sounds are calm and rational. “Are you okay?”

Piccolo watches him wipe his fingers, two fresh stains near the growing collection of similar streaks. “Luke, it's you that I'm beginning to worry about.”

Footsteps echo in the corridor behind them. Although distant and steady, both men feel their faces pale. One ashen face turns to the other, wordless communication clear: move. They run, passing quietly through corridor after corridor.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter 1.

Oliver Hudson knows war. He knows that it's more than people shooting at each other, it's the exhilaration of constant danger and the fear gnawing away at the balls. War is a man's world and, despite the number of fine women under his command, it would always be a man's game in his head. He slides through the passageways of his own vessel. War is on the forefront of his mind and had been since encountered the mangled body of Chief Crocker. Manilow Crocker had stared up at his captain, dead eyes wide and bulging. Sweat beads still drying on the man's brow. He had no choice but to leave the man there. Gun in hand and **war** squeezing at his heart, he moves toward distant voices. He snakes down passages until the voices are close enough to overhear.

“First aid kit. First aid kit. Where the fuck is the emergency first aid kit?” The voice, female, steadily continues. “One in every hallway? Right....c'mon, talk to me Commander. How are you holding up?”

Leaning against the wall, Hudson moves so that, slowly, his Lieutenant and his Commander enter his line of vision. Lonnie Henderson is frantically searching for the first aid kit she had been swearing about and Jonathan Ford is propped near her feet, bleeding and mumbling. Henderson, arms above her head and catches his movement from the corner of her eye and, in a movement that would leave any superior officer beaming with pride, her gun is level with his head, just before it almost drops, “Captain!”

He ignores her surprise, her agape jaw and the wide-eyed stares. Moving quickly, he kneels next to Ford. The man isn't doing very well. Beads of sweat mar his features and under his hand, blood transforms the uniform from a dull black to a sickening shine. Hudson's hand rests on one of Ford's dampened ones. Under him, the Commander moans.

“You're going to be okay. Character builder, right?” He turns to the only other officer present. “Get me that first aid kit now. If you can't find one here, go down the terminal, there's one near the end of that hall.”

Lonnie Henderson runs.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter 1.

Voices ahead,voices behind and a dead end. Lucas Wolenczak rolls back his eyes. Today, he mentally decides, is so not his day. In the last few hours, he almost drowned,almost lost it and now, he had managed to do the impossible: he had lost Tony. _How the hell do you lose a grown man,_ he thinks, especially _when he_ _ **was**_ _right beside you?_ He shakes his head and keeps moving. _Put one foot in front of the other, come on you've been doing this most of your life,_ and he has, but walking has never been so **hard**. He has to think about each fall of each soggy running shoe. It's monotonous and monotony is something that he never really could handle.

He slips and falls face first, unlaced shoe tripping him almost completely into Crocker's lap. He stares into Crocker's glazed eyes and thoughts wander back to the Moon Pool. Under the heat of his stares, Crocker's cold body warms and loosens. Gazing into the eyes of his founder, he first winks and then his mouth opens to speak.

“Tim says hello, Lucas-boy.” One hand reaches out to grasp his arm and he backs away, crawling pathetically away from the body, mind screaming for aid, “We all do.”

Forcing himself to his feet, part of him oddly thankful that O'Neil hadn't felt the urge to talk as well, he walks. One foot in front of the other, under the supervision of the Security Chief's bloodied grin.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter 1.

Lieutenant Commander Hitchcock has always considered herself to be a reasonable woman. She isn't the type to shriek or cling and this behaviour would have seemed alien to her. She gave her life the same dedication that she gave her job:reliable, determined and uncompromising. Her femininity is something that has often been over-looked; she is beautiful and the attention that came when men finally noticed is something that she both loved and loathed. If she is honest, the attention that Krieg showered upon her, for her breasts and her femaleness, is the real reason she had married him. No, for Katie Hitchcock , femininity was not nearly as important as, say, being accepted as capable and level-headed. She could handle her own, or at least she has always thought.

Currently. Our beautiful Lieutenant Commander is in some serious trouble. A cold gun is pointed harshly at her pretty face and her lip is already bloodied from where one of the men had hit her. He now stares down on her, a handsome man if his thin mouth wasn't twisted with hatred. Disgust furrows his brow and spite brightens his dark eyes.

“Such a shame to mess such a pretty face.” Instead of the punch she readies herself for, his mouth crashes down on hers. The weight crushing, hurting, she tries to cry into his mouth only to find his tongue pushing his way into her. His hand crawling up her right leg, she pushes him away with all the strength her dignity can muster.

And once free, she slaps him hard across his face.

“Oh, a feisty little bitch.” He slaps her back, hard enough to send her head rocking, “That's okay. I like 'em feisty.”

Suddenly he is pulled away. The mouth that had been poised above hers is gone and she has a moment to breathe a sigh of relief. Her attacker, his collar twisted in her ex-husband's angry fist, his face in the midst of becoming as colourful as a Canadian sunset. Seizing the opportunity, she reaches out grabbing the gun that he left hear his feet.

“Punch him once for me Ben.” She pushes the gun into the waistband of her uniform. “He thought I was too much of a little girl to even properly arm himself.”

Ben Krieg drops the man with an audible “thud”. He crumbles heavily, at the Lieutenant's feet, “Katie, they were all for you.”

For a moment,she loves this man again; smiling up at him with a warmth that he hasn't seen from her since their wedding and when she reaches for his hand, he takes it, “Let's get out of here.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter 1.

“We'll be hitting the first U.E.O. underwater training in a few days tops, sir.”

The young soldier waits for a reply, hands fidgeting at his sides. The other man, the _sir_ stays stone still. After a moment, a wisp of a smile appears on his broad face. On someone else, the action would make the individual seem pleased; on him it brought another effect. The young man shifted weight from one foot to another, beads of sweat forming on his pimple ridden forehead.

“Is that okay, sir?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter 1.

_Two times two is four. Four times four is sixteen. Sixteen times sixteen is two hundred and fifty-six. Two hundred and fifty-six times two hundred and fifty-six is-_

“Too fucking much Wolenczak.” He speaks out loud,whispers too low to echo off the ventilation system around him. He rests his head on his knees, careful to contain himself as much as possible. The vent has always been a tight fit and often he had been caught because of a bit of sneaker or a flash of a baseball jersey stubbornly refusing to adhere to the smallness of the space. This space has always been **safe** , perhaps the smallness lending to the illusion of being cuddled; the cold aluminum hungrily wrapping around him in a way that, he supposed, his parents hadn't.

But it is different this time; different because it's less like safety and more like **hiding**. Are his friends,no his **family** , dying out there right now? Dying while he is too busy acting like a baby...If he was even ten years younger the thought would have brought tears to his eyes. But, he isn't ; he's eighteen and although part of him insists that, as a civilian, he shouldn't get involved and it's okay, **right** , to be hiding in his safe spot. The rest of him, the larger part of him, isn't buying it. And a blush of shame begins to rise on his still rounded cheeks.

He steps from the vent. _Two times two is four. Four times four is sixteen. Sixteen times sixteen is two hundred and fifty-six-_

Takes a step or two...

_Two hundred and fifty-six times two hundred and fifty-six is-_

“Lucas!”

And he looks up, quickly, guilty, as if he had just been caught with his hand down his pants and not mumbling math. His eyes meet Lonnie's smile and he could hug her. He's just so glad to see another person and she could hug him back. He's crew and, more importantly, he's a friend. Her arms wrap tight around him and it's better than the cold comfort of the vent. He hadn't been hugged this tight since Captain Bridger had the Bridge and he did not realize how much he missed it until her arms envelop him. He surprises himself by hugging her back; hugging her harder than he's ever hugged anyone in his life. They stand there reveling in the sensation, the feel of another.

Hudson watches the display before him with some degree of envy. A captain's role is to be the example and that simple instruction has always set him apart from the crew. Unable to share their joy, he breaks it. “Are you ladies almost finished?”

The effect is predictable. Lonnie Henderson's mouth sets in wordless disapproval. He can almost read “sexist'' on those pursed lips. Lucas, on the other hand, is young enough to be set in place by his choice of words. _Still struggling to be a man,_ he thinks.

“Our first plan of action is ti get to the Medbay. I've done all that I can for Ford out here. We need real medical supplies. The second thing we have to do is establish the Medbay as our base. Out here, scattered all over the place, we're sitting ducks.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter 1.

The Medbay is a mess. Stretchers upturned and supplies thrown everywhere, locating the appropriate equipment to treat Commander Ford is a task. Lonnie and Lucas both tidy up while Captain Hudson treats Ford's wounds. Lonnie stops her work only once to assist the captain. Although Ford is doing quite well, all things considered, she nervously jokes about how nice it would be to have a doctor around.

“My bedside manner needs some work; I'll be the first to admit that. But I got the job done.” He smiles, “Commander Ford should pull through. Thank you for your assistance Henderson.”

“You're more than welcome.” She touches Ford's forehead, tender and gentle strokes. “I'm glad that he'll be okay.”

“Yeah, he will; but what about everyone else?”

“Mr. Wolenczak, your concern is touching, but we have no idea what we're dealing with.”

Blue eyes flash with anger, “I know what we're dealing with. We're dealing with strange men with guns. Men who killed O'Neil and god knows who else!”

“Do **not** yell at me, Wolenczak. I already don't want you on my boat. Do yourself a favour and shut the fuck up.”

Lonnie holds her arms out, stepping between them. :Whoa, with all due respect, now really isn't the time for this.”

Neither man had a chance to respond, a crash near the door makes all three of them freeze. Hudson's head whips towards the door and his gun is out and ready, all without thought. A uniformed man stands in the doorway, gun in hand and a deep scowl on his face. “I would suggest disarming yourself, Captain. Unless,” the gun moves to point at Lucas, the youngest looking and the only one not in uniform, “you want to watch the kid die.”

Hudson gently places his gun on the floor, free hand in the air to show surrender. Once it is on the floor he kicks it away. It skids, ungracefully, across the floor before coming to a full stop near the feet of their capturer.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter 1.

Tony Piccolo found his way to the Medbay. Putting a bandage on his head, he steps back to admire his handiwork in one of the doctor's mirrors. Eyes roving, he ends up checking out quite a bit more than his injured head. No, the seaman uses the opportunity to admire his dark hair, his clear complexion, the way that the light reflects (just right) off the center of each eye. _Tony Piccolo_ , he tells himself, _you are a sex god._

He runs a hand casually through his hair, eyes never leaving the mirror, “Not too bad at all. I mean, what girl wouldn't want me?”

“A-hem.” The voice breaks through the near empty Medbay like a gun shot and Tony, much to his dismay jumps. “Sorry to interrupt you Gorgeous, but me and Katie here were looking for signs of civilization. You wouldn't happen to have seen any, would you?”

Tony turns; stares hard at Krieg before uttering a humourless laugh, “Very funny. So funny, I almost forgot to laugh.”

“Can the two of you act your ages for a change?” Katie laughs, “I mean puh-leeze.”

“Oh Katie, you know you love us.” Tony grins up at her before his expression changes, taking on a more serious appearance, “Did either one of you see Lucas at all on your way here?”

“No, sorry.” Concern flashes across Krieg's features, “Did you lose him?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh god, Tony!” Her jaw drops, “I am so sorry. I didn't mean to sound so insensitive.”

Tony struggles to keep from braying laughter in her face, “Don't worry about it Katie.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter 1.

Pieces of equipment are grouped together in small clusters. In the midst of the man-made debris, a figure hunches over a modified computer screen. Muttering words that would mean little to anyone save himself, he types. Fingers flying across the keys with a speed that allows himself to be distracted from the sweat forming on his oily face.

Another figure enters, crouching with meticulous care, “How is everything coming along?”

Neck snapping under the force of words, he looks at his tormentor, “It depends. How is my **son**?”

“Your son is fine and he will continue to be fine as long as you continue to co-operate. Do you have all the equipment you require?”

The man clearly judges the question in his mind, determining the proper response, eyes never leaving the computer screen, “ _seaQuest_ is the U.E.O.'s flagship. If I am missing something, which is highly unlikely, I'm sure that I can find it with relative ease. You don't hurt my son and you'll get what you want.”

The second man stands, brushing the imaginary dust from his pant legs, one finger gently tracing a holstered gun, “That's the deal.” He walks to the doorway, stopping once, the doorway neatly framing his body. “Oh. And we have him in custody. My men found him hours ago.”

There is no verbal response from inside the room, but the sweat grows thicker.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter 1.

Pieces of equipment are grouped together in small clusters. In the midst of the man-made debris, a figure hunches over a modified computer screen. Muttering words that would mean little to anyone save himself, he types. Fingers flying across the keys with a speed that allows himself to be distracted from the sweat forming on his oily face.

Another figure enters, crouching with meticulous care, “How is everything coming along?”

Neck snapping under the force of words, he looks at his tormentor, “It depends. How is my **son**?”

“Your son is fine and he will continue to be fine as long as you continue to co-operate. Do you have all the equipment you require?”

The man clearly judges the question in his mind, determining the proper response, eyes never leaving the computer screen, “ _seaQuest_ is the U.E.O.'s flagship. If I am missing something, which is highly unlikely, I'm sure that I can find it with relative ease. You don't hurt my son and you'll get what you want.”

The second man stands, brushing the imaginary dust from his pant legs, one finger gently tracing a holstered gun, “That's the deal.” He walks to the doorway, stopping once, the doorway neatly framing his body. “Oh. And we have him in custody. My men found him hours ago.”

There is no verbal response from inside the room, but the sweat grows thicker.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter 1.

Darwin swims anxiously. His family, his pod, is threatened and he is unable to help. He swims through his aqua tubes, discovering who has been murdered and forcibly abandoned in the numerous corridors. Some of them are members of his pod and of them are members of the strangers' pod. Bad Men are on _seaQuest_ and they scare him.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter 1.

Each footstep is weighted, dragged down with exhaustion and fear; the pace sluggish. It is impossible to say, look out a window and discover a full moon, but to the internal clocks developed by Tony, Ben and our lovely Katie, it is growing late. Katie is holding up the best. Her training has kicked hard and her head (not to mention her rank) is bent on getting her team out of this mess alive. To the others, the Lieutenant Commander is expected to lead and her stepping up to the challenge is a matter of course. There is some relief, but it is more likely to resemble the relief of a crew to discover that they have a good Captain. They will pledge their meaningless loyalty to any commanding officer, but to do so for a good Captain is almost as pleasant as a beautifully wrapped Christmas present.

“Okay,let's set up base.”

The order comes with ease and her team, no longer her **friends** , quickly move to help her. Every breath is an instruction and their lives weigh heavy in her hand. Tony Piccolo forces his tired feet to move for her, Ben Krieg pushes the more cowardly aspects of himself to the side. His desire to leave the burden of protection on Katie's thin shoulders melting with the mental image if his ex-wife's mouth crushed by the thin lips of a menacing stranger. His hand pushing up her thigh tearing fiercely at the fabric, warped mind bent on violating her in the most damaging way a man can hurt a woman.

“What do we know?”

“Not much,” Ben scratches that invisible itch at the back of his neck again. “We saw them taking prisoners in the direction of the Engine Room. That means that they aren't killing everyone.”

“And,” Tony eagerly broke in, “we know that they will kill people.”

Ben shoots Tony a look that clearly says “duh” and Tony jumps to defend himself. Kate Hitchcock shoots her own feminine glare and the jaws of both men snap, “Piccolo's right. We need to keep in mind that they will kill us, not just take us prisoner. These men are dangerous and never forgetting that may be the only thing that keeps the three of us alive.”

Tony leans over, one eyebrow up in triumph, “See? Not as dumb as you think.”

Ben rolls his eyes in reply, “Please. Tony, you were only about two full IQ points away from your mother naming you Twiddle Dumb.”

“Oh you really are too funny, Krieg.”

“Why thank-you.” Krieg dramatically wipes a fake tear from his eye, “You know I really do try.”

Tony, fists balled at his sides like anchors at the ends of strong rope, stood there. On his face, eyes narrow and mouth curls to create an expression that openly dares Ben to say **anything**. _Just give me one excuse,_ that expression says, _one excuse and I'm going to wipe that smug arrogance off your face you little cocksucker._ And that expression makes the situation suddenly too real and, for the first time, Benjamin Krieg can see just how the man could have survived his time in prison.

His eyes widen and his hands go up, mocking a surrendering pose, “Just yanking your chain. I didn't mean anything by it.”

The fists give way to limp hands. Although he knows for a fact that Ben, more than likely, meant every fucking one of his words, shame flushes his handsome face. It wouldn't do to punch a navy officer on a military vessel. No way, even if he is baiting you, the good Old Boy's Club won't see eye-to-eye with the likes of an ex-convict. All the reformation in the ocean wouldn't show them that you are worth considerably more than the dog shit littering the streets of those still plagued by poverty and domestic violence (not that the rich have completely left the latter behind. Tony is certain that even high class folks like the Wolenczak's have been stressed, or intoxicated, enough to resort to violence. Hell, if they hated each other even half as much as his roommate claims, it would be more surprising if they hadn't).

Kate's gentle hand on his arm brings him back to reality with staggering force. She's close enough to smell her shampoo and he tells himself, more for the benefit of more interested parts of his body, that just because her hair smells nice doesn't mean that he's attracted to her. She whispers soft words of encouragement. (“I know that he's trying, but don't let him get to you”).

Anger melts from his face as quickly as the ice cubes melt in a good glass of lemonade on a nice summer day. A small part of him (no comment on which part) thinks that Katie is responsible for this sudden change. The infamous Piccolo temper has never before met its match.

Ben Krieg, on the other hand, is not in awe of the higher ranking officer. He isn't thinking about how amazing she is, about how her face lights up when she smiles or any of the multitude of similar thoughts flying through Tony's head. He is thinking about how much he would love for Tony to be the next gruesome discovery in the flagship's expensive passageways. Although these thoughts speak volumes as to the cause of his failed marriage, Krieg feels justified by them. Backing down to the likes of Tony Piccolo hurt his pride. And, as Kate has learned, a wounded Krieg is a sure way to a disastrous outcome.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter 1.

Bunching up the pull-over, he forms a make shift pillow for the wounded Commander. It wouldn't be the most comfortable, Lucas himself would be the first to admit that fact; however, it would be better than the nothing that the rest of them would pass the night upon. He offered the pull-over without fuss or fanfare. Hudson may begrudge the silver spoon that he had supposedly been born with, but that didn't mean that he was also born without a sense of moral obligation.

Not that he believes himself to be advantaged. Years of money may have cushioned his path, say, by paying for the special schools and by getting him a spot on the U.E.O.'s pride and joy. But money only goes so far. It doesn't come close to making up for the years of careful babysitter's to play with while his father sat, an imposing and eternally **busy** figure behind an antique desk. It also doesn't make up for the nagging feeling clawing at his balls. That feeling rarely slept and the only man that ever came close to silencing it, Nathan Bridger, is no longer here to keep it from screaming _Why care for you? You are a financial drain with this unattractive, needy personality. Fuck you, Wolenczak. Hudson is right about you...Weak,weak, weak,WEAK._

He found, when he got older, that the perception is more important than the reality. Hudson sees a kid whose rich parents allow him to take a spot more properly equipped by a naval personnel. His brains, instead of allowing that spot to fit better, only serves to rub Hudson's nose in it. As a result, handing over his pull-over is not an act of kindness or, as he would like to believe, the automatic reaction of a friend. No,when Lucas hands over his pull-over he is repaying an unacknowledged debt, the debt caused by his unwelcome presence and irritating intelligence. _Weak,weak, weak._ His thoughts are confirmed by the sharp pull of the shirt from his hands before it's pushed under the unconscious man's head.

He wipes the sweat from Ford's face with a Medbay cloth, “It'll be okay, Commander. You'll see.” Talking calms his nerves and he babbles on, answering thoughts as they pop into his head. “Hudson? Sure, he's no Captain Bridger, but I think that he's going to get us out of this. That “us” includes you, you know.”

Lonnie Henderson sits down beside him, legs curled under her. A hand gently strokes his arm and he knows that she is sharing his concern. (Maybe more entitled to that concern, she is sleeping with the man after all). He takes some comfort in her touch, but his own thoughts prevent him from taking more comfort then he would have found wrapped in the greedy arms of his vent.

“We aren't going to die here you know.” Her voice is quiet. Both unsure of how much the Commander can actually hear.

Lucas shrugs. One finger lazily points to the dying man. “That's what I've been telling him.”

Lonnie sighs and he knows that he has said the wrong thing. His mind races, trying to find the words necessary to correct the problem, but it's useless. The mind that can easily provide solutions to complex computer problems is stumped when it comes to social situations. She knows this, “Lucas, not what I meant. I don't care what he thinks. Right now, he's a vegetable. I'm saying that **you** won't die here...that I won't either.”

She gives his shoulder a quick squeeze before leaving him alone. He picks the cloth back up, the skeleton of the U.E.O logo looking up at him through deep blue lines, and drops it again. The cloth, damp with Jonathan Ford's sweat, falls to the dirty floor.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter 1.

Krieg takes the offered crackers. Their two sneak trips to the supply department have only provided a limited assortment of foods, so he shoves the crackers into his mouth without complaint. The crackers are about as tasty as sawdust, crumbling messily on his tongue and leaving him to swallow dry chunks. Across from him, Katie chokes on her own handful of crackers. Tony is the only one who seems to be enjoying their snack. Years of prison food, Ben supposed, probably left his taste somewhat undiscriminating. He pops the crackers into his mouth one after another, a fact that leaves Krieg staring in amazement. No grimace on his face.

Wiping her hands on her pants, Katie picks up a tube from their pitiful supply pile, “Um.” She squints, trying to figure out its contents. “Stuff to squeeze on crackers?”

Ben takes the tube from her first, fingers meeting briefly. _Anything to get this taste out of my mouth,_ he thinks. Fingers, still burning from Katie's touch, squeeze the paste onto the Saltine du Sawdust. This accomplished, he pushes the entire snack into his mouth. Coughing, his face turns an alarming shade of red. Spittle, mixed with tiny bits of chewed cracker, spray from his “O” shaped mouth. Hands clench helplessly at his sides and he realizes, with growing horror, that he can't breathe.

_It's because of bad karma...I'm going to die and it's all because of bad karma._ Panic closes his throat, adding to the constriction. Far away, over his coughing, Katie is asking him if he is choking. _I'm going to die._


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter 1.

Events pass in a surreal blur. One moment, he's muttering the standard nonsensical words of comfort and, in the next; he's being grasped around the shoulders and shaken. Three hard shakes have his teeth rattling within his closed mouth. Unshed tears blur his vision; the result of shock more than actual physical discomfort.

“W-what?” He can't finish the question, which is probably just as well. The hands leave him unbalanced enough to fall. Immediately Lonnie's hands are on him, comforting helping him to his feet. She is behind him, so Lucas misses the glare that she shoots the Captain. He ignores her, jaw set and “I AM THE BOSS” may as well be written on his forehead.

“What are you doing? With all due respect, sir, I don't think that any of this is called for.” Her voice is low, but her eyes are flashing and anger brings a pretty flush to her cheekbones.

His facial expression doesn't soften under the assault of her stare. So consumed is she by the scene before her that she doesn't notice Lucas' reaction. Her primary reason for being over in this section of the Engine Room doesn't seem to be the Engine Room at all. His eyes devoid of any heat, he only stares blankly at the ground. Something isn't right ( _His one glazed eye stares up at him. His lips cracked and bloody form a grotesque smile. His voice will be devoid of all human emotion...will sound like nails on a chalkboard to his fragile mind...will leave him crazily clawing at his own ears, trying to escape that_ _ **sound**_ _. Please don't let me be crazy...And please, oh please, if anyone is listening...don't let me be crazy_ )behind those blue eyes. And the evidence is the teeth that he's currently pushing through his own bottom lip, leaving it in a bloody tatter. A drop of the escaping liquid runs down his chin.

“Henderson, move out of the way.”

“I don't think—”

“That is an order.” And she reluctantly moves, painfully aware that her movement means that there isn't a human shield between the Captain and Lucas anymore. Hudson reaches out, grabbing the younger man by the shoulders again.”What is wrong with you?”

( _And he's going to get me and I know that he is and please oh please if anyone is listening don't let him get me and I'm a dead man and isn't that the real root of the problem ladies and gentlemen? I'm a dead man because he's already dead and it's only a matter of time before he decides to pop up and say hi..._ )

For the first time,understanding hits Lonnie with a full frame body slam, “What is he saying? What's wrong with him?”

“Not sure, but that's what he was saying to Ford a minute ago.” One hand moves from the shoulder; prying open one blue eye, looking for a dilated pupil. “Could be drugs. Who knows? You stay with Commander Ford. Mr. Wolenczak is going to sit with me for awhile.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter 1.

There's a whirlpool inside and he watches it. He watches it carefully with the knowledge that there's always an eye in the storm; a wise and powerful eye. He has no idea how to find it, has no idea,really, if the whirlpool is real. There is a storm; the grinning face of Tim O'Neil is testament to that. But his eye is not the eye. His eye holds no secret force, only a nightmarish gaze. A promise, if you will, of Bad Things.

Bad Things are not new to Darwin. Time after time, _seaQuest_ had been involved in stopping Bad Things and, occasionally, Bad Things have happened right on the sub; but this Bad Thing is new. This Bad Thing isn't just strangers in weird uniforms with big guns. No,this time there is something much worse on board...something that's more Thing than Man, you could say. And the only hope lies in the eye.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter 1.

He hears himself breathe deeply, exhaling a cloud of relief. His arms give out and he collapses, falling on the body of his ex-wife. Underneath him, her eyes open. He looks into them unbelieving. _How dare she be alive_. Her arms move,struggling to reach him. One of her fingers gently trace the scratch mark on his cheek. His mouth wordlessly opens and closes under her attentions. _How could she be alive? The marriage was over, your Honour, I killed her myself._

A hysterical laugh escapes the confines of his mouth. His limbs,lying heavily under him, can't move to force it back in so it comes out in one long high-pitched giggle. The giggle leaves him breathless, pain building in his abdomen.

“Can you breathe now?” Her voice is full of concern, a contract to the emptiness of her eyes. “Ben, answer me!”

He closes his eyes, wondering where in the hell that came from. Opening them, Katie stands above him, eyes wide with concern. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” His throat hurts, but he forces the words out, “Just think that I'm losing my mind.”

“Oh, what a loss.”

“Shut up, Piccolo.” His eyes squeeze shut, but the words keep pouring out, “This may be important.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter 1.

He sits quietly, hands twitching uncontrollably in his lap. The material of his shirt sometimes gets caught in the way of those movements. It twists and turns within his hands, leaving it impossibly wrinkled. When it falls from his grasp, the fingers twitch, twisting the air helpless between the slender digits. Beside him, Hudson sits. No longer watching, he sits there ( _imposing_ ) waiting for Lucas to stop.

Across from them, Lonnie is crouched beside her own burden. Commander Ford is steadily getting worse. He needs medical attention , but despite the presence of those qualified to tend to him, there are no supplies at their disposal. The doctor had looked him over and then threw up her hands in disgust. There is nothing anyone could do, yet Lonnie Henderson took it upon herself to sit with the ranking officer. She spoke to him almost non-stop, doing what she could to make him feel comfortable and loved. Really, anything to keep him with her.

Lucas' hands finally still, “I'm okay now.”

“Son, we don't know what made you not okay.” Hudson places a hand on the teen's shoulder. “Just keep sitting. I don't want you out of my sight until we figure out what's wrong.”

“Don't call me **son**.” Blue eyes flare and, far under them, the slender mouth twists to form a grotesque sneer. “You can't stand me, can you? You think I spent my entire teenage years in somebody's basement typing _Hab SoSii' Quch 1 _at every chat room addicted nerd that pissed me off? Well I have a news flash for you **Captain**.”

The words come out as neatly as a bitter pill. It's ugly and there's no mistaking the contempt, even when he pauses, it's obvious that the pause isn't from weakness. He's breathless with the anger still sending tiny torpedoes off in his ears and, even if its self-destruction,he needs to get out every last word, “I spent my teenage years **here** , on this fucking **sub**. So don't treat me like an outsider,sir, because I've been here a hell of a lot longer than you have.”

There are hands on his shoulders,digging into his flesh, **hurting** him. The brown eyes bore into him and his mouth open and closes wordlessly. The Captain's mouth takes on a grimace and Lucas is suddenly frightened.

“You will pull yourself together and you will do it **now** , Mr. Wolenczak.”

“I-I'm sorry,” the words are barely caught by Hudson's ears.

1Means “Your mother has a smooth forehead” in Klingon (Star Trek)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hab SoSii' Quch means “Your mother has a smooth forehead” in Klingon (Star Trek)


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please refer to chapter 1.

She's sitting on the Bridge a gun pointed at her head. She had walked calmly from the Engine Room when they first pointed the gun at her, eyes wide but relatively calm. She had walked between two armed men, faking a calmness that she couldn't find inside. All the training in the world wouldn't be able to make this situation comfortable. But she had sat and while sitting, she tries to ignore the fact that she is probably never going to see the Engine Room again.

“What do you want me to do?”

“We want you to use the PAL signals to locate your fellow shipmates.”

Lonnie Henderson adjusts her screen. “That may be impossible. Once security is compromised, the corrupted object is disposed of. By boarding the sub and taking prisoners, this action is foreseeable. This means that anyone still not captured would dispose of their PAL, understanding its use as a potential tracking device for the wrong side.”

The blow that falls upon her upturned face is also foreseeable. So are the words that accompany the slap ( _You lie!_ ). Her head rocks,narrowly missing the opportunity to bounce off her computer screen. As she recovers from the slap, her eyes fall to the floor and onto an abandoned PAL. In secret triumph, she stoops to pick the object up. Holding it up, her face a mask to hide her arrogance, her fingers uncurl and it drops into the outstretched hand of her captor.

“See?” her voice is alive,maybe for the first time since this whole mess began. “The _seaQuest_ is probably littered with abandoned communication devices.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter 1.

His first real memory is too old for him to place a time frame around; however, he can see it quite clearly despite this. His chubby digits had been entwined in the thick weave of the carpet when his father came home.

The living room carpet is a dull shade of brown. Despite his mother's insistence that it's a **rich** shade of brown, Lucas has always secretly sided with his dad on this one. Brown is brown and, “rich” or not, it looks dull. “Looks” being the operative word because that carpet doesn't **feel** dull. No, to the sensitive body of a curious five-year-old this carpet is amazing. Squishing the weave between bare toes is almost as fun as mud.

But it's not his toes in the carpet right now, it's his fingers. He is running them through the lush weave, thinking of how much it looks like chocolate (oh and wouldn't it be swell if the world was made of chocolate). He is lost in thoughts that wouldn't be of any interest to the adult world when the bang if the front door drags him back to reality. The door rubs against the frame before finding its niche.

Heavy footfalls sound through the front hallway preceded by a dense cloud of rum. All of this means nothing because Lucas Wolenczak is a boy who desperately loves his daddy. Even before the man exits the hall, Lucas has his arms wrapped around one custom tailored pant leg.

“Where's your mother?” Words are accompanied by the weighty ( _safe_ ) feel of his father's hand on the top of his head, “Get to bed, Sport. It's past your bedtime.”

The words are rough with alcohol. Rough enough, in fact, to send him to the stairway without any of his usual fuss. He doesn't go to bed though, instead, he sits,viewing the unfolding scene between the prison-like bars of the stair rail. His mother and father, now below him, rehashing their usual “discussion.”

“Where were you? Can't you even call?”

“For fuck's sake, I went out for a few drinks. It's not like I cheated on you!”

“It's all work and friends.” Her voice breaks and the pleading quality that sneaks in makes Lucas wince. Daddy hates that sound. “Are you forgetting that you have a family?”

Before his open eyes the memory wavers. He can perfectly recall what is supposed to happen ( _the open hand hits her cheek, leaving an ugly red blotch. Her hand flies to that mark, eyes wide and ready to tear. His father staring with disbelief, 'Oh my god, I'm sorry honey. Here,let me get you some ice.” Drunken stumbling to the kitchen, mumbling apologies to the sound of his wife's sobs_ ), but the new changes seem more **real** than the memories. That happened before, this is happening **now**. The dichotomy is mind-boggling and, just long enough to cause a pang of discomfort; his mind is both adult and child-like.

He places a hand, the digits now slender, against the wall. The attempt to calm the internal battle is in vain. There is no time because another problem claims his attention. He pulls his fingers from the cold wallpaper, the movement abrupt, as if the wallpaper felt closer to the temperature to a handful of ice. On the flesh of his hand, droplets cling to his spread fingers.

“What the-”

The wall is marked by fingerprints; a thin sheet of wallpaper, partly melted by his own body heat. Droplets fall from printed flower petals. In moments the thirsty flowers are lost behind the cascade.

“Lucas.”

His head snaps at the sound of his name. He expects his father to be standing beyond the columns of wood, perhaps wondering what is happening to his wall. But, the voice doesn't belong to the world-renown scientist. Instead, Captain Bridger looks up at him.

“Lucas.”

Inside, his heart pounds, “Captain!”

Bridger smiles, “Whoa, kid. Don't get too excited. You have a lot of work ahead of you. The _seaQuest_ is in trouble.”

“What can I do?”

His palms suddenly sweaty, he places a palm against the flower print. The cool water calms him, reminding him of countless summer beaches. It isn't until he begins to feel tiny cracks opening under the weight that he realizes that the wall isn't merely leaking; there's an ocean beyond this wall.

“Captain, I think I should--”

Water pressure finally sends the wall flying. Without the barrier, he finds himself on the verge of drowning. The water rushes past him ( _through him_ ) and there is pain; pain deep enough to send his lungs into great, whooping screams. Any air that is stored in those burning lungs are driven out by the pain.

As he falls a shadow falls upon him; surrounds him, driving the thoughts of a watery death to thoughts of being actually crushed. He panics, heart pounding, so hard that he can hear the vibrations pulsing through his ear drums. Pushing against the shadow ( _rubbery material_ ) to work his way to the surface.

( _Where's the Captain?_ )

He wakes ( _finally pushing himself to the surface_ ), bolt upright in sleep-filled panic. The taste of sea water sits in the back of his throat. The layer of sweat coating his skin leaves him wet and gasping.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please refer to chapter 1.

Henderson is escorted back to the Engine Room. Under normal circumstances, the idea of being walked any where between two young and reasonably good looking men would have left her glowing. Now the escort service wasn't meant to flatter and, to that end, they're doing quite well.

She walks, each step sounding unbelievably loud to her adrenaline filled ears. Each step leaves her with the unpleasant idea that her spin is liquefying within her and she has to bite her lip to keep her back straight. She is afraid they can smell her relief when they finally let her go. When she sits next to her unconscious lover, she can almost smell the residue of her own fear and the quickened beat of her heart unmasks her as a liar.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter 1.

The medbay floor is hard and cold. _Throw in a couple of grass clumps,_ Tony thinks, _and it would be amazingly similar to lying on hard ground_. Shifting position, he is momentarily shocked to realize that the floor can feel worse. An abandoned medical instrument jabs into a gill and he fights the urge to let out a string of profanity that would leave an old fashioned truck driver blushing.

“Psst, are you asleep?” The irritating question comes from the mouth of Ben Krieg ( _what a suprise there_ ). The Lieutenant is standing watch, although, in Tony's humble opinion, the deck of cards on the floor are being watched a whole lot more carefully than the door.

“Your turn ain't up yet, so let me sleep.”

“You weren't sleeping, so I don't see the harm in keeping me a little company.” His voice carries an edge of defense and Tony wants, suddenly and quite badly, to knock him upside the head, “Besides, you only have half an hour before it **is** your turn. You can't really do much sleeping in half an hour.”

Tony sits up, legs crossed in front of him. “What do you want?”

Ben shifts, uncomfortably, as if his mother just walked in at a very inopportune moment. “Nothing. Really just a little company to pass the time.”

“You're scared shitless aren't you?”

Ben's face turns as red as a cherry tomato, “What are you suggesting? That I can't handle this? I'll have you know I was trained for this, Piccolo! Why don't you just shut up and go to sleep?”

It's Tony's turn to get mad and he does so, but there is a hint of comfort in his voice despite the harsh edge to his words, “Look, Brain-dead, we're all scared shitless. Don't you think that Commander Hitchcock's scared? Or that the fucking Captain's probably scared? Training doesn't mean that you're prepared to have something like this happen to **you**! Just shut up and let me have my half hour's worth of sleep.”

It's quiet for a moment. The air thick with the friction of their words. Somewhere to the left of them, Katie snores gently, adding to the feelings of isolation. Tony watches the dark, his breathing harsh and heavy. Ben puts down an Ace of Spades before packing up his deck.

“Tony...” The word hangs, unacknowledged, in the air between them. The weight of it crushing them both, “I know that we're all scared. I just don't want to be scared...”

If Tony hears him, he doesn't answer. Maybe he doesn't feel like there's anything left to say or maybe there's too much to say. Either way, they exchange places less than fifteen minutes later. The cards are left out for his use, a token of friendship or of apology. They don't get used. The darkness is far too thick for games.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter 1.

“I can't get you on the _seaQuest_ , Nathan.” Bill Noyce's image fills the view screen. “They're not responding to any of our attempts to establish contact and, at this point, we're not even certain if they're operating. I tried all of my connections for you; it's a no go.”

The words are not a real shock. After all, when he left _seaQuest_ , he also left the U.E.O. There are hard feelings and asking Noyce for a favour is asking for a miracle, friend or not. Bridger covers his unease, fiddling with some papers; trying desperately to look both busy and important...as if his wanting on board _seaQuest_ is his right and not just the result of some disturbed sleep.

Bridger sighs, the sound deep and disturbed. “Do me a favour. Get me their last known location and a _sea crab_. I'll figure things out from there.”

“I don't like this idea.” His eyes refuse to meet Bridger's, afraid of finding more evidence of the determination that he hears in his voice, “I don't like this idea at all.”

It's the exact reaction that he anticipated and there is no sigh. Disappointment hangs thick in the air and, as much as he hates to admit it, a part of him is screaming “ _did all I can,let's call it in and get on home_ ”. He wants to ignore that part, but the rest of him has already decided that if there is _no sea crab_ for him, there is also no second try.

It is Noyce's turn to sigh, “I'll see what I can do.”

The view screen darkens as soon as the words leave his mouth.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter 1.

Lucas sits one hand flat against the wall. The churning in his stomach is unbearable and, for one terrifying moment,he is almost certain that he is going to be sick. He rests his head against the wall, attempting to will the nausea away. The wall isn't cool enough to help and he is about to move when the realization hits him like a sub load of sting rays.

“We're not moving anymore,” He stands, hand still flat against the wall. “Captain Hudson, the _seaQuest_ has stopped. We're not **moving**.”

Hudson places his own hand on the wall, skin a darker shade then his subordinate's, and they stand there, motionless,hand next to hand. Underneath both palms, the wall is also waiting for something....


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter 1.

One hand busies itself, throwing the piece of equipment in disgust; the other, grimy with a heavy coating of sweat, attempts to wipe the oil from his face. Face set, he turns back to the task at hand. Pieces fit together with grunts of pleasure and moans of disgust. A cry of triumph eventually escapes through his slightly parted lips. This is the cry that manages to alert another.

“Finished?”

“Yes,” The thrill is gone from his words. The cry that was there is depleted by the mere existence of this other man, the man who threatens his child. “Your high powered bomb is done. I hate to know who you're going to drop it on. Honestly, with the modifications made to those torpedoes, I'd hate to be anywhere on the other side of them.”

The man's face is clouded by an ugly sneer, “If it works, Dr. Wolenczak.”


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter 1.

The gun points heavy at his back and, in his mind's eye, he can just see how the bullet would cut into him, through him. Lucas doesn't know a lot about anatomy, but he knows enough to make an intelligent guess that the bullet would not only hurt like a bitch, but would also leave more damage than their unequipped medical team could hope of dealing with. He sighs, long and deep, trying, unsuccessfully, to divert his attention from the gun.

He focuses on his Captain. Hudson's face is unlined, as if he didn't care if there was a gun pointed at a civilian's back. Lips purse slightly, and Lucas suddenly hopes that it is in disappointment or anger. Thoughts race wildly through his head ( _We don't get along, but he can't let them kill me, right?_ ); the flow so steady that it takes all of his concentration to keep eye contact.

“You know, you can get the gun outta my back.” The tone takes on a sarcasm that he doesn't feel. The defense mechanism that he berates himself for, certainty that his own social awkwardness can get that bullet flying through his skin faster than anything the Captain refuses to do, “I'm going to go anywhere.”

Lucas is answered by yet another sharp jab with the gun, hard enough to leave his teeth cutting through both his lip and a cry. If the man behind him heard him, he gave no indication and the gun fitted itself painfully against his flesh. Another cry, unbidden, rises to his lips and, once again, his teeth shred the tender flesh of his bottom lip. In front of him, Hudson doesn't flinch.

Another man enters the room, stops in front of Hudson with arms outstretched, as if there isn't a gun pointed at a civilian right behind them, as if there isn't an Engine Room full of injured or scared men and women. The arms envelop him and Hudson stiffens at the contact. Stiffens and looks Lucas full in the eyes.

“Oliver Hudson! The new Captain of the _seaQuest_ , ja?” The hug is over; the hands that had been around him now rest on his shoulders, “My name is George LeChein. There, now we know each other, no reason for you to be frightened. I won't hurt the boy if you co-operate. I just need you to do something for me, something to help us so we get off this sub. Everything can return to normal in just a couple of hours?”

“Normal?” Hudson snorts, “What about the people you killed? Is there a **normal** for them too?”

The gun jabs, once more, into Lucas' back. A small cry breaks free and he can almost hear the trigger cock. ( _I'm going to die, I really am goingtodie_ ). His world is reduced to the feel of the weapon against his back and the sound of his own heart thumping hard within his chest. It echoes unpleasantly in his ears and deeper within, his stomach clenches in panic, filling his bowels.

His eyes drop and a hand grasps his chin, forcing him to face his Captain, “It's be a shame to waste such a pretty face.”

A mouth drops hard on his. The kiss is forceful, driving his clenched lips into teeth. The mouth moves; the other lips, already starting to stubble with a forming moustache,use the resulting pain to pry his mouth open. A silent cry is used against him,used to drive a tongue into him. He wants to cry out in protest, but he can't. The tongue glides over his teeth, seeking his tongue. Nausea overwhelms him and even the taste of another can't override the feel of vomit rising at the back of his throat.

LeChein pulls away, leaving the younger man breathless and sickened. “I'll humiliate him before he dies, **Captain**.” The last word holds enough contempt to cause a sharp inhale from Hudson, “He'll beg me to kill him.”

The gun jabs hard, a warning to stay silent. The conversation isn't meant for him. Anger wells up within him, driving out the need to curl at his captor's feet and wait for it to end, “Whatever it is don't help him! He's a monster! He's a --”

A hand effectively cuts off the rest of the sentence even as the gun wedges into his flesh hard enough to leave him screaming into the barrier. In front of him. His Captain drops his eyes in defeat or apology. LeChein speaks; tone low and devoid of remorse. Lucas' ears strain, but understanding doesn't reach them.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter 1.

The _sea crab_ is tossed on the underwater current. Each compensated adjustment questions the authority of his intuition. Not for the first time, he questions the feelings himself. What does he say when he gets onboard the _seaQuest_ only to find everyone safe...only to find Lucas safe? How does he explain away the _sea crab_? The troubled dreams?

The sub, no **his** sub, in sight, his stomach sinks when no WSKR scans his vessel. The lights are on, but she's dead in the water. _I told you that you were needed_.

“What?” He turns his head, rationally knowing that he is alone. Yet, only minimally surprised by the appearance of a guest, “You. Want do you want?

Lucas smiles, “This sounds bad, but you actually.” He laughs and the whole _crab_ vibrates with the sound, “You need to help us. Help me.”

Questions bubble on his tongue and his old man brain is overloading from the incredibility of it all, “What's going on over there?”

Something on his control panel beeps and Bridger compensates for yet another strong undertow. His mind is reeling, making the task at hand difficult. Behind him, there is nothing. Bridger pushes a few more buttons, setting course for _seaQuest_ 's docking bay.

“Well, kiddo?” He turns, question dying on his lips as he observes the empty area. Like a madman, he forced his hand through his hair; first once, then twice,never meeting resistance. “Great Nathan, you really **are** losing it.” He shakes his head, trying to ignore the conviction that Lucas really was in the _sea crab_.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter 1.

The _sea crab_ rolls into the docking bay. The area is silent, the normal bustle of officers and science personnel seem to be distant memories. A wave of sickness washes over him. Almost a year off the damn thing and the _seaQuest_ still firmly remained fixed in his mind as **his**. The fact that she may be in danger , no, **his**. The fact that she may be in danger, no, **is** in danger, is hitting him like a shot in the nuts.

“Stop!”

The sound freezes his blood and he reaches for the gun that he carried for most of his military career before realizing that he isn't carrying it. He raises his arms, declaring himself to be unarmed. His heart pounds, maybe a little **too** quickly, inside his chest and he can almost hear the adrenaline pouring into his sluggish veins.

“Captain Bridger?”

The figure walks from the shadows, first the gun comes into clear view followed by the unmistakable figure of a man. Bridger blinks; the action is exaggerated by surprise, “Dr. Wolenczak? What the hell are you doing here?”

He laughs, the sound is easy, good, “I could ask you the same question.”

Wolenczak lowers his gun, a military issued weapon, but doesn't drop it. Instead, it sits awkwardly in his hands, pointed timidly towards the floor. “We have to get out of here,Captain, before they come back. I'll fill you in as we walk.”


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter 1.

“Piccolo, pick up the gun and guard the entrance,” Hitchcock stood hear him,gun also pointing near the closed door,”I'll cover you.”

“Shit,” Krieg looks at his ex, panic etched across his features,”What do you want me to do?”

“Get behind the door and throw it open when I say so. We have the advantage and I want to keep it that way. Hopefully we can take them out before they even realize that we're in here.”

“Gotcha.” He nods; brisk and efficiently.

She nods back and with a flick of her petite wrist,he flings the door open. Three guns, cocked and ready, take aim even before the intruders can lift their own weapons into view. The figures rise their hands in surrender, even as Krieg carefully lowers his firearm. The look frozen on his face is one of pure shock and, if he were to look at his companions, he would see similar views on their faces as well.

“Captain Bridger, Sir!”


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter 1.

The blow is enough to send him crashing to the floor. His legs buckle and he can almost see himself sprawling at LeChein's feet. In his mind's eye he can see the picture that he'd make. Lying, stomach to the ground, maybe the soft cotton of his t-shirt up to expose his bare skin to the cool floor. One knee cocked; the other flat. Maybe he'd even find himself with his ass slightly protruding. A “ _come fuck me_ ” after the tongue that was forced down his throat.

The right knee makes impact first,hitting the floor with a hollow thud that shudders through the entire length of his leg. His teeth bite neatly into the flesh of his tongue. The pain dancing along his jaw, his teeth seeking the comfort of his bottom lip (the row of darkened scabs confess to this coping mechanism). But he doesn't sprawl. Even as the blood dribbles from his lips,his focus remains on keeping a semblance of control. A task that he does, to some degree, manage to accomplish. After his right knee hits, his left also does, allowing him to remain partially upright. Eyes lifting seeking some form of reassurance from his Captain.

There is none. The eyes that meet his refuse to hold the contact. The brown eyes drop as if the intensity of the other man's eyes is almost painful. They're the type of eyes that hold _the greatest good for the greatest number of people_ as more than just some over-used cliché. LeChein can do anything and, as long as all of _seaQuest_ 's torpedoes remain firmly lodged in their places,nothing else matters. So, the vein on Hudson's forehead pulsates even as his eyes bore heated holes just out of the range of Lucas' eyesight.

In a cartoon world,smoke would be streaming from both ears in batches fat enough to put Yosemite Sam to shame ( _get that flea-bitten carcass off'n my real estate_ as opposed to _get the fuck off my sub_ ). But in a cartoon world guns are always being pointed around and no one gets **shot** ; in the real world, bullets actually hit targets and no targets and no cartoon angels on big fluffy clouds can make you come back in time for the next episode.

Fingers hook under Lucas' jaw, using it as a handle to force his head up. Later dark bruises would give evidence to this; currently, panic blocks out the pinch. No teeth through the lip, re-opening barely healed scabs, or half heated cries, there is only the feel of a gun near his over-heated skin and the rush of adrenaline in his ears.

LeChein's breath is hot against his cheek; hotter still when the man leans in, breathing words into his ear, “You're so young, aren't you? I'm going to kill you, you know. It's nothing personal.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Lucas makes a show of rolling his eyes, trying to hide the fact that his hands are shaking, “You'll kill me because Hudson isn't helping you and then you'll drag someone else up here and kill them too. What happens when you run out of people?”

The hand sends him sprawling to the floor. His face rests up against Hudson's highly polished shoe and he just barely has time to think _this guy must have nothing better to do in his off time_ , before he is hauled to his feet again. LeChein is staring at him, eyes flashing and angry.

“You stupid stygg pojke!”1 He grabs a fistful of blond hair, making the youth give out a sharp cry of pain, “I'll enjoy watching you die.”

“You're going to have to wait until it comes out on video,” The groan turns around, sending his weapon clattering to the ground. Bridger stands framed in the doorway. His gun is ready and a smile is pasted onto his aging face. Behind him stand Henderson, Krieg and Piccolo.

“You idiot,”LeChein shouts, “You fucking idiot.”

LeChein moves quickly, propelled by rage. His hands are outstretched forming a hideous parody of a Hollywood horror film,maybe _The Death of Frankenstein_. Before a shot could be fired, he had Lucas by the throat. Strong hands encircling his flesh, bringing tears, sharp like pin pricks to his eyes.

“A son for a son,” He rambles, words eventually running together. “Asonforason. Asonforason.”

“Jesus Christ! Get him off of him.” Lawrence Wolenczak reaches the scene, announcing his presence with panicked shouts. “Get him off my son.”

Before the words are even out of his mouth, Hudson is on LeChein. LeChein is big, bigger than Hudson, but Hudson is soon met by Bridger. The two men work together, combining their efforts, lifting the other man from the youth. When he comes free, LeChein reels, landing on the floor, his face smashed against Krieg's combat boot.

“Stay right there, handsome,” The gun pointed at George LeChein's carefully sculpted head.

Lucas lies crumpled on the floor. Bridger leans over, helping the dazed teenager to his feet. He stumbles, the floor seeming to sway under his footing. Far away, his father reaches out his arms and, much like the toddler he once was, Lucas staggers to those arms. As they envelope him, the world turns a soft shade of grey. Sounding as though he is under water, Bridger's voice garbles to the surface, _Hold on. He's going to faint._

His blue eyes slip shut, closing out the world.

1Literally means “Bad boy” in Swedish. Http://www.spidra.com/falska.html

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literally means “Bad boy” in Swedish. Http://www.spidra.com/falska.html


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter 1.

The funerals are lovely. Flowers cover every exposed surface of the Engine Room. _A fitting end_ , Jonathan Ford thinks. His arm is slung around Lonnie Henderson; she snuggles into him, the heavy bandaging scratches against the inside of his dress shirt and she can feel their outlines against her cheek.

“It's over.” She looks up at him for reassurance,her face still bruised from the ordeal, “It's all over.”

He looks down at her, false smile wide and feeling slightly plastic. Without even thinking, he gives her hip a small squeeze, “Yeah...It is.”

“I'm glad, but I feel bad for him all the same.” She looks at him, reading the expression on his face, seeking an 'okay' before finishing,”I mean,he thought he was avenging a son.”

She doesn't get a verbal answer. One more gentle squeeze and the conversation drops off. Without even thinking about it, the hand that so recently touched the memorial plaque bearing Lieutenant Tim O'Neil's name, wipes against the restrictive material of his dress pants. No marks are left behind; however, the pads of his fingers suddenly feel dirty. As Captain Hudson walks in to give the eulogy, Ford makes a mental note to wash his hands at the first opportunity to present itself.


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter 1.

The knock at his door came as no surprise. Ever since Tony and Lucas started sharing a room, the door is almost always open. The surprise comes rather, who is at the door,especially since Nathan Bridger already sits in the cramped quarters, an excited teenager babbling. No bruised throat is going to keep him quiet, although, the bruises are shocking and the voice that uses it is a little huskier than usual.

It is Piccolo who gets the door, slings it casually open, unafraid of hitting any of the discarded clutter littering the floor. The sight of Hudson standing there, arms crossed and one of the few expressions that he is capable of, a slightly grim one as opposed to pissed off.

“Can I borrow Mr. Wolenczak?”

“S-sure.” Lucas comes to the door. His walk is casual, but when he reaches to close the door behind him,his hand trembles slightly, “What's up, sir?”

“I want you to enlist.”He pauses,arms still crossed. “Join my crew.”

“What?” Shock and disbelief register through his voice.

Hudson leans against the wall; the very picture of nonchalance, “You would make a great asset to this ship.”

Lucas' tongue darts out,licking his bottom lip,running over the scabs, to keep the laughter inside. One hand runs through his hair,pushing the long strands from his face, mimicking Hudson's apparent nonchalance, “I thought you hated me.”

Hudson laughs, the sound rich and deep. When he is finished, he closes the gap between them, arms still crossed, bending at the waist. His mouth rests inches from Lucas' ear and when he speaks the tone is low, a contrast to the brashness of that laugh, “I don't hate anyone under my command,Wolenczak. I just keep them alive.”

A small furrow appears, marring Lucas' forehead. The blue eyes wide and all too readable. It's obvious that his thoughts are momentarily elsewhere, momentarily with Tim O'Neil, Manilow Crocker and a few other precious friends. The furrow does not last long and when his attention comes back to Hudson, it's possible to doubt that it was ever there at all.

“You don't need me to enlist. I'm already a member of this crew.” He crosses his arms, taking a stance quite similar to his Captain's. He leans in, continuing to close the gap between them. “And don't give me any crap about not wanting civilians on your sub.”

He straightens with one quick movement. Arms dropping from his chest and reaching for the door handle. With another move, he's framed by the doorway. Looking back at Hudson, the superior officer still standing, his mouth slightly agape, Lucas winks. A small smile graces his mouth, an obvious by-product of a vibrant and somewhat arrogant mind.

Then he's gone, leaving Hudson alone in the corridor. He walks, pausing once to shake his head. ( _It's going to be okay. I have a really good crew_ ). Moving again, he doesn't pause until he reaches his destination.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter 1.

Darwin swims uneasily through the aqua tubes. Each flip of the fin carries with it an obvious degree of anxiety. Others may have forgotten, but the dolphin hasn't. To him the obvious calm isn't the end; it's only the eye of the storm.


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter 1.

The Medbay is in complete order. Doctor Smith wasted no time giving the _seaQuest_ 's housekeeping staff a work-out, ordering damaged equipment picked up while she busied herself with the task of filling out the necessary paperwork, placing needed materials on the next supply run. When she finally flicks off the light, the Medbay looks sanitized and untouched. She leaves, her practical shoes clicking slightly,announcing her exit.

No one notices that the Medbay is only okay on a surface level. Beyond that, inside one of the morgue compartments, Tim O'Neil lays flat on his back. Under the white sheet the autopsy stitches stand out, unbelievably dark against the slightly puckered skin. Above that, his 'good' eye stares expressionlessly, blanketed by a floating white mass. After a moment, the eye blinks.

Tim O'Neil smiles humourlessly into the darkness. Another moment passes and he begins to vibrate. A slightly rusted sound forces itself through his ruined vocal cords. It's the kind of sound that would send chills up the listener's spine. But the synthetic night has set in and, although there is some bustle, a skeleton crew manning stations and mopping floors, no one hears a thing.


End file.
